The answer to our intimacy issues seemed straightforward. Our libidos no longer aligned, especially since the arrival of our children. Unlike some, I can’t pretend to enjoy intimacy when I’m not interested. My partner often says, “I just want to be intimate with my wife. You’re my wife.”
You crave exciting experiences? Fine, go find them elsewhere. I’ll give you a FREE PASS. A “hall pass” to explore outside our relationship.
This idea had been brewing for years, rooted in the guilt I felt for not being intimate with my partner after the births of our two children, who came just 16 months apart. I reasoned: We have a solid marriage, we get along well, our kids are joyful, and I am content—why disrupt that by withholding intimacy? If it’s that crucial, he could seek it outside our marriage.
But it felt incredibly unfair. Why is a lack of intimacy often seen as a precursor to divorce? How can it overshadow all the other wonderful aspects of our relationship? Why is it all or nothing when it comes to sex?
At this point, therapists would likely advise me to “just go for it,” insisting that intimacy is vital for a healthy relationship. They’d suggest, “Try harder, even if you’re not in the mood—you might find yourself enjoying it.” They’d recommend I “schedule intimacy.”
I’ve tried it all. I’ve been intimate with my partner even when I didn’t want to, and frankly, it felt awful. A bit of wine made it bearable. I even donned sexy lingerie and made the first move, pretending to be in the mood, faking enthusiasm so my partner—and society—wouldn’t deem our marriage doomed.
Let me clarify: my partner is not at fault. When we do connect, it’s incredible. So let’s not go there.
As much as our dry spell bothers him, it troubles me as well. Why can’t I feel that fiery passion again? Why don’t I ever want to be intimate? Why has having children diminished my desire? I even had my hormones checked, hoping for an explanation, but the results were normal.
I refuse to accept that romance is the sole foundation of a marriage. Our relationship has a lot of positives to offer beyond intimacy, and I believe we can weather this dry spell without it leading us to disaster. If our romantic life takes a backseat for a while, does that mean we’re headed for divorce?
One evening, while enjoying a drink with my partner, I blurted out, “I wish you could be with someone else. Have a free pass. Just don’t let me know—just do it. I can’t be what you need. Just be safe and don’t fall in love.”
He appeared shocked and hurt. “You don’t love me anymore,” he said, his voice low.
I felt tears welling up but held them back. Didn’t he see that I offered this because I do love him?
He looked genuinely pained. “Have you thought about the repercussions of me being with someone else?”
Finding my voice, I replied, “Yes, I’ve thought about it endlessly. I feel like it’s the only way to make both of us happy. There’s so much pressure to be the perfect wife—hot, thin, and sexy—while also being a great mother and excelling at work. It’s overwhelming. I just can’t handle it anymore.”
He interjected, “I don’t pressure you. I never make you feel obligated to cook or clean.”
This is true. He wouldn’t bat an eye if I hired help or ordered takeout every night. Yet, he does drop hints about intimacy, suggesting that if I really loved him, I’d want to be intimate with him.
But I don’t think love and sex are the same. It’s not that simple. Raising kids is exhausting, and I love my partner, but sometimes my sexual desire is dormant for extended periods. I don’t feel the same heat I once did.
My experience is not unique among parents of young children. I’m tired and stretched thin. The last thing I need is the pressure to be sexually available every night. I can’t pretend to be a sex goddess when what I really crave is sleep. I lack the capacity for exciting encounters on a regular basis.
I can’t abide by scheduled intimacy, obligatory date nights, or the clichéd advice that therapists often give to couples struggling with sexual intimacy. Those suggestions will go on my “how-NOT-to-save-my-marriage” list, because adding more tasks to my already full plate will only drive me crazy.
My emotional and physical availability has changed dramatically. The demands of parenting, work, and life logistics are immense. And let’s not even start on my post-baby body insecurities (which could fill another five paragraphs, but I won’t go there).
I don’t need therapy to figure this out. Our marriage is not doomed; we’re not heading for divorce. And, it seems, my partner isn’t interested in my FREE PASS offer. Is it possible to remove the romantic expectations from our relationship for a moment? To focus on raising our small, dependent children? The intimacy will return eventually. If it takes a year, two, or five, that’s okay.
I just want to be friends and partners and build a family together, and he feels the same way.
I wish the therapists and sex experts would stop offering me cookie-cutter advice on how to revive my marriage after having kids or how to regain my old self. The truth is, I’ll never be the same. The journey of growing and raising a child transforms you indelibly.
My body won’t revert to what it was, my mind won’t return to its pre-baby clarity, and I certainly don’t wish to reclaim my former job. Our marriage has taken a new path since becoming parents.
What matters is the friendship I’ll have with my partner in the long run. I want him by my side at soccer practices, dance recitals, and graduations. Although our romantic life may be on pause, I know that when the time is right, he will be ready for me, free pass in hand.
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In summary, while intimacy may be lacking, the foundation of our relationship remains strong. Navigating parenthood has altered our dynamic, but our bond as friends and partners is enduring. We’ll embrace this journey together, knowing that the passion can return when the time is right.